Dirante, My Son- Ada F. Kelley (Mass.) c.1880s

Dirante, My Son- Ada F. Kelley (Mass.) c. late 1880s

[This version comes from Folk Songs of Old New England by Eloise Hubbard Linscott; published in 1939. Ada F. Kelley of West Harwich, Mass. learned this ballad from her uncle, a descendent of David O'Killy who came from Ireland in the middle of the seventeenth century (1650). The family is also related to the Soper family, from which Child I was derived in the late 1700s.

It appears the singer is this Ada F. Kelley,  (b. Apr. 20, 1882 d. Sep. 10, 1969). Her father was  Charles H. Kelley, born in 1838, is a son of Nehemiah D. and a grandson of Anthony Kelley. His mother was Esther, daughter of Sears Kelley. Mr. Kelley was postmaster at West Harwich from September, 1885, to July, 1889. He was married in 1862, to Elizabeth J. Chase. They have ten children: Anna F., Esther M., Lena E., Kate W., Nehemiah D., Hattie L., Charles H., jr., Walter W., Ada F. and Amy B. Mr. Kelley is secretary of Sylvester Baxter Chapter. 

R. Matteson 2011, 2014]


Dirante, My Son- Ada F. Kelley (Mass.) c. late 1880s w/music

"Oh where have ye been Dirante, my son,
Oh where have ye been, my sweet pretty one?"
"I've been to my grandmother's. Mother, make my bed soon,
For I'm sick at my heart and I want to lie down."

"What did ye have for thy supper, Dirante, my son,
What did ye have for thy supper, my sweet pretty one?"
Striped eels fried in butter. Mother, make my bed soon,
For I'm sick at my heart and I want to lie down."

"What will ye give thy mother, Dirante, my son,
What will ye give thy mother, my sweet pretty one?"
A coach and six maidens. Mother, make my bed soon,
For I'm sick at my heart and I want to lie down."

"What will ye give thy sister, Dirante, my son,
What will ye give thy sister, my sweet pretty one?"
Finger rings and fine jewels. Mother, make my bed soon,
For I'm sick at my heart and I want to lie down.

"What will ye give thy grandmother, Dirante, my son,
What will ye give thy grandmother, my sweet pretty one?"
A halter to hang her. Mother, make my bed soon,
For I'm sick at my heart and I want to lie down.

"Where will I make thy bed, Dirante, my son,
Where will I make thy bed, my sweet pretty one?"
"In the corner of the churchyard. Mother, make my bed soon,
For I'm sick at my heart and I want to lie down."